The Scone Case
by Lucinora
Summary: Arthur Kirkland sure meant no harm when he stuffed all the scones into his victim's mouth. But what is done, is done. His victim has remained unconscious. Now in a desperate attempt to protect his newest recipe, Arthur has to formulate a flawless plan just in time. Hetalia parody of Roald Dahl's famous perfect murder - 'Lamb To The Slaughter.' Dedicated to my great friend Grace.


13/8/2015

Dear diary,

Gone.

All gone.

Everything is gone. With the wind. Not a single piece of, scrap of, bit of evidence is left and those baka will never discover the truth because anything disproving my innocence has been eaten, swallowed, digested and so for ever destroyed.

Right under their very nose.

I prepared everything with my own hands today. It was, at first, one of those blissful days in my golden, splendid dream. I was waiting patiently for Francis' return, while embroidering some roses on a scarf. Then I rested midway with a cup of tea, hot and nicely brewed, and checked that everything prefect for his arrival. Curtains drawn. Lamps alight. Wine slightly cooled as refreshment for he must have been gelatinous with fatigue after the toil. It's a shame that a country as senior as him had to work all day long.

The calm before the storm, I'd say.

At last Francis came into the office. His demeanor was strange. His attitude weird. He eyes cold and filled with secrets. I somehow had an uneasy feeling tingling all over. Nonetheless he had to have his tea. I had scones for him and he could have them right there without even moving out of the chair.

Yet instead he asked me to sit down as he had something important to tell. What could that be? Bewildered my heart was thumping restlessly. I paused for a second.

Then I obeyed.

Then it came.

The betrayal. He wanted to dine out. He loved another restaurant's food. Not my cooking. My first instinct was denial, hearing it but not processing. Maybe it had not happened. At all. He wouldn't leave me. Why would he? What had I not done prefect as a chief who completely devoted to cooking? I felt my legs numb. No more than a whisper I barely managed to utter. A wave of slight nausea swept over me and I still remember vividly how the desire to vomit was surging up that I almost retched.

But I didn't. I held it back and went into the kitchen. On the table I saw some scones. I looked at them. All right then, we would have some scones first.

Francis didn't turn around. He only heard me when I, as if spellbound, stood motionless behind him. All of a sudden despair struck me. Together with stark raving madness. Oh. I hate him as much as I have expected him to come. Staring at his back I was overwhelmed, blinded, engulfed by the lunatic despair.

Why would you leave me, Francis?

Didn't you promise to try the new recipe?

Why?

WHY?

BAKA!

Then I stuffed all the scones into his mouth.

He fainted.

Surprising is how fast one is able to regain composure and a clear mind after an outburst of recklessness and fury. I could have cared less about anything I might need to face later. Yet I wasn't very sure about what for the cooking, what my new recipe would be subjected to. A risk too big to be taken. And even if they didn't throw it away, my recipe, on which I had spent days and weeks working, might still be left unattended in a dark drawer, lying beside Alfred's Marvel comics.

I had to act quick.

The cake I had baked according to my newest recipe was shoved into the oven immediately. Even before I washed my hands. That one vital piece of evidence had to be handled extremely well. The top priority, however, was a good alibi. First things first. Made up my mind, I ran into my room and started tidying my face. I tried to smile but it was peculiar, so I decided to have several rehearsals.

'Hi, Matthew.'

'Yes, and I think that song is marvelous.'

Alright.

So I went to Mathew's office and asked for some songs recommendations politely, remembered to scowl a little when mentioning how Francis had caught me off guard (he did), and put on my brightest smile before leaving. There wasn't any acting, in fact. Matthew suspected nothing, and nothing he could have suspected. All I was doing, was slipping out to his office for some advice before another little music contest which Francis and I constantly had started.

Nothing unusual, or tragic, or horrible had ever happened.

Kept things absolutely natural, I told myself, and no need to act. I could feel my stiff body relaxed right away. And every subtle nuance of expression, if there had been, disappeared. I began to hum a little tune, a familiar one Matthew and I had just discussed.

That's the way. If you believe, they so follow.

'Francis?' I called, while entering the office. 'I'm back.'

Then I saw him, the man I had expected so much, lying on the floor pathetic. The sweet promises all flashed in at once, welled up, and burst out. I was heart-broken. For him, for me, and for the recipe. I knelt beside him, the agonizing realization of something precious was forever lost shattering me.

A few minutes later I decided to call Alfred, and he came very quickly. I was at a loss for words when he stepped in. He patted me on the shoulder and at the sight of Francis he frowned. What happened, he asked softly.

No sooner had I finished my explanation than Kiku and Veneziano arrived. They apparently believed that Francis had been poisoned. A lot of questions were asked, in a kind way. So I told my story again, this time in more details, starting from when Francis had come in.

'Which office?'

'Matthew's.'

With a whole bag of notes Alfred who had just questioned his brother was back after 15 minutes or so. Still isolating myself I managed to catch a few whispered phrases between their conversation, such as 'very cheerful,' 'great chat,' and above all, 'impossible.'

I knew that I was clean.

Not yet, I reminded myself promptly. Not until everything was done.

'Wanna go to the common office and chill a bit?'

Alfred offered, his voice comforting and warm. It was sweet of him, but I rejected the idea in a heartbeat. I would not, and could not leave before the others did. Slumped down in the chair I shook my head and insisted on staying. I thought of the possible mistakes. Unaffordable. Devastating. Catastrophic. No, I said, I'd like to stay right where I was. To prevent anything from veering out of my absolute control.

So Alfred, as well as the others, let me be. Sometimes he spoke to me for distraction purpose. Which, was great, in any sense. I was kept posted. They were looking for the poison, and the culprit might have taken it. It was more likely, though, that it had been hidden in the vicinity.

'It's the old story,' he said. 'The most dangerous place is also the safest.'

'I'm well aware,' I thought.

And the search went on, in vain. There were other men in the corridor outside, surrounding the office of no use. The three inside seemed to have worn out and thus let down their guard, of which could be taken advantage. Eyeing the wine on the table I had a permeable in mind instantly.

Wine slightly cooled as refreshment for they must have been gelatinous with fatigue after the toil.

I could tell they were not very comfortable when they were persuaded to take a nip, especially Veneziano who believed Francis would be very much enraged later. My heart skipped a beat when they did a double take.

There's many a slip twixt cup and lip.

But they drank it after all.

Now three of them were unable to concentrate on the investigation anymore, as their hunger had been triggered off, which was obviously tormenting them despite their poor cover-up. Alfred somehow went into the kitchen, opening the window of opportunity for me to bring up the topic. Things turned out to be exceptionally easy and went exactly as I had planned.

It was so easy that a sad fear came creeping in like a spider was crawling slowly on my shivering body, and I could feel its every move. From my leg, to my spine, and eventually my neck. I shuddered, not even sure at what.

Concern was on Alfred's face when he returned. No more time to waste, Arthur Kirkland, I scolded myself. I collected my thoughts, turned to him, and looked with large, dark tearful eyes.

'Alfred F. Jones,' I said.

'Sup?'

'Would you do me a small favour - you and these others?'

'Well we can try.'

I smiled a little. Time to finish it off. The sudden fear had completely gone by then and what only left was total calmness. I knew what to do, and would do it perfect. I was certain. You saw the cake in the oven, I asked, please eat it. In no way could they resist the temptation as it was crystal clear that they were all madly hungry.

'It'd be a favour to me if you'd eat it up.'

There was a good deal of hesitating.

'Francis baked that.'

They succumbed.

They went into the kitchen to help themselves. I stayed where I was, listening to them speaking among themselves with eyes closed. A thickening shroud of tiredness was settling over but the sense of satisfaction was much stronger. Then uncomfortable silence descended over the office. A smirk flickered at the corner of my mouth which I couldn't help. I left the room stealthily.

I began to giggle.

I guess it's time to burn this entry away. No other living souls shall know what actually happened today. Set the fire and let it burn. Oh. The things we lost to the flames.

Gone.

All gone.

Not my recipe though.


End file.
